Won't You Reconsider?
by Anne O'Nimmous
Summary: Post-Blog. The whole world at his feet and he can't even get rid of one annoying do-gooder. Well he *does* owe her... Kinda self-indulgent, but isn't most fanfic? All credit for Dr. Horrible goes to the amazingly devious Joss Whedon, and much credit for Anne's misadventures goes to the Incredible Kinners. Rated T just to be safe; we are dealing with villains, after all.
1. A Dramatic Entrance

What with a proper scientific lab at his disposal, it had been quite some time since an invention had backfired...and never so spectacularly. It was supposed to merely blow the doors off their hinges for a dramatic entrance (not that he needed such things any more, but it was still nice once in a while), but the whole building had collapsed somehow.

Unnoticed amidst the panic, Dr. Horrible lay face down in a heap of rubble. A ceiling beam had fallen and trapped him beneath it. Choking on fine dust produced by the explosion, a girl staggered out of the ruined building. She was supporting another unfortunate who'd been caught in the blast. After depositing her dazed burden in a safe place across the street, she headed back in. That's when she spotted the figure in a red lab coat and black gloves.

Internal conflict raged. This man was responsible for so much suffering. Why shouldn't he be the one to suffer for once? Let him have a taste of his own medicine (almost literally—the explosion was his fault, after all). But looking at him lying there, unconscious and totally helpless, she was hit with the realization that he was a person too. Not some vague, evil being. He felt pain, anger, disappointment...she couldn't leave him there.

It took some effort to move the beam, but it actually wasn't all that heavy. Supporting his limp body long enough to get him away from the already-gathering crowd was much more difficult. Fortunately most people were too focused on helping survivors and/or gaping at the destruction in awe to notice one girl dragging away their red-lab-coated ruler.

* * *

Unsure what else to do with him, I'd put him in my trunk (didn't want to take the chance of someone seeing him in my backseat) and driven home. Now, pacing my apartment with his still-unconscious body on my couch, I sighed. What was I supposed to do now? For once in my life, why couldn't I have been ruthless? No. I just had to go and let my conscience interfere. It really was annoying sometimes.

Then I noticed the blood. It was on my hands, my jacket...where was it coming from? I wasn't bleeding, was I? After a quick check for injuries, I realized that it wasn't my blood. It was his. Part of his lab coat was a darker red, the stain spreading from somewhere in his abdomen. Great. This day just kept getting better and better. I couldn't take him to the hospital—not dressed like that, anyway. Hippocratic Oath or not, I doubted there were many doctors who'd be willing to help the infamous Dr. Horrible.

Fine. If I had to change his clothes, so be it. Hopefully he was smart and practical enough to wear something under that coat. To my immense relief, he was. Without too much trouble (but much too much physical contact for my comfort), I had him changed into an old pair of jeans and t-shirt that my big brother had left behind last time he visited.


	2. The Dark Side

The hospital was only minutes from my apartment, but even so I kept wondering if I'd gotten him there in time. Dr. Horrible was still out. No wonder, with a great big hole in him. I'd done what I could to stop the bleeding, but it didn't seem to be helping. The bright side to that was that when we got to the emergency room, he was taken care of almost immediately.

I found myself filling out forms with questions that I had no idea how to answer. His name: well, I had found a wallet in his pocket. William Harris. Next of kin: no clue. Emergency contact: did Dr. Horrible even have one?

Finally that chore was done to the best of my ability, but that meant I had another choice. Stay, or go? I sighed again. Of course I would stay. My stupid conscience wouldn't let me do anything else without nagging constantly.

When he woke up, I was sitting by his bed reading a book. Trying to, anyway—I was too distracted to be successful in that endeavor.

He tried to sit up, but quickly gave in. I looked up with a scowl. "Lay down and stay still," I ordered. "You'd better be paying your own dang bills when this is over."

He looked around blankly. "What?"

"You landed yourself in the hospital, Mister Harris. Or, more correctly, you landed yourself in the middle of a collapsed building and _I_ brought you to the hospital. Against my better judgement," I finished in a mutter.

I could see him thinking about it, working it out...then a flash of memory. He actually got halfway to a sitting position this time before grunting in pain and laying back down.

"I told you to stay still. If you can't even do that, I'll just tell the medical staff who you really are and leave you here."

He relaxed a little, but was obviously still wary. "If you know who I am, then why'd you bring me here?"

I glared at him. "Because I'm actually a decent human being and I couldn't leave you under that pile of rubble that you quite literally brought down on yourself. Heaven only knows why, but I actually would have regretted walking away."

He had a little trouble wrapping his head around that one. I didn't give him time to think about it. "So, your name's really William Harris, hm?"

He looked pretty surprised. "How did you—"

I held up his wallet. "Driver's license. Seriously? You're supposed to be our evil overlord and you have a license." I scoffed.

"It's expired," he said defensively. "Anyway, that's private. Give it back."

"And why in the world would you have a picture of Captain Hammer's dead girlfriend in here? In celebration of your first kill?"

Anger flared. "That's not—she wasn't his—I said give it back!" he stammered.

"Not until you explain, Mister Harris."

He fixed me with a flat, cold stare. "No."

I shrugged lightly and tucked the wallet into my purse. "Fine. Just think about this: after all you've put the world through, do you honestly believe that you have a right to privacy?"

"What about what the world's put _me_ through?" he demanded.

"You got dealt a crappy hand, so you decide the world needs to burn? Good job. You ensured that the problem isn't going to get fixed."

"Fixed? It can't be fixed! It could never be fixed!"

"And revenge doesn't help anyone! Haven't you ever seen Star Wars? 'Fear is the path to the Dark Side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering'," I recited. "Anakin let hate turn him into someone else. Someone who never could have won in the long run."

He looked at me like I was crazy. "What?"

"Never mind. I'm going home. See you later, Darth Terrible."

"That's, uh—it's 'Horrible', actually," he corrected me. As I walked out the door, I gave him the most infuriating answer I could think of.

"Whatever."


	3. A Proper Introduction (Sort Of)

Anger, sometimes even annoyance, can temporarily overpower fear. Once I got home and calmed down, I realized that this wasn't the current case. After talking to him, I honestly did not fear Dr. Horrible. He was too...I don't know. It was almost like it was all a game to him or something. I shook my head. He really was insane. Made me wonder, though. What had happened that made him think this was the only answer?

I decided to ask, once I'd let him stew for a bit. Just because I didn't leave him to die in a collapsed building did _not_ mean that I had to like the guy. Meanwhile, I was going to take a shower and get a good night's sleep.

When I went to visit Dr. Horrible the next afternoon, I made sure to tell him off. "You know, I started to get ready for work this morning," I told him. "But then I realized that I didn't have to. Someone blew it up yesterday."

"It was only supposed to blast open the doors," he mumbled.

I stared at him. "Oh, well that's fine then! Lives and jobs lost, but hey, at least you got your dramatic entrance. And how'd that turn out for you, by the way? Not too well, I'm guessing, judging by the fact that you're currently laying in a _hospital bed_."

"Okay, okay. I get the point, all right? Geez."

We both sat in silence for a minute. I had this automatic desire to apologize for yelling at him, but I quashed the impulse ruthlessly. No way was I ever going to apologize to Dr. Horrible for anything. "So. About that crappy hand we discussed yesterday...what cards did you end up with, exactly?"

He looked at me blankly for a second before remembering my use of the metaphor the day before. Then he looked away. I couldn't believe it. Dr. Horrible actually couldn't meet my eyes. "I'm not going to talk about her," he said.

"Her? So it's a girl. I might have guessed."

"I meant 'it'. I'm not going to talk about it."

"Whatever. Don't you know that bottling up all your feelings is dangerous, man? It could drive you insane—oops, guess that already happened," I retorted sarcastically. Yikes, this guy was really bringing out my snarky side. I didn't even know why; it was just an automatic response. Kind of like a little brother that way.

He looked up again, glaring fiercely at me. "You have no _idea_ what it's like," he hissed. "To lose someone you love. The emptiness, the guilt—" he stopped short, realizing that he'd said too much.

Suddenly all the pieces clicked. The hints he'd dropped in conversation. _"...she wasn't his—I said give it back! ...what the world's put_ me _through? ... I'm not going to talk about her. ...lose someone you love."_ The way he got so defensive about that picture in his wallet. I suddenly understood that I'd gotten it wrong. "You loved her," I said. Which, following even semi-logical reasoning, led to: "You didn't mean for her to die."

He didn't answer me. Again, I felt that urge to apologize. I couldn't, though. Not to Dr. Horrible. But maybe—just maybe—I could apologize to William Harris. "I'm, uh, I'm sorry things played out the way they did, Mister Harris." My voice was softer than it had been so far.

He didn't reply for a few seconds. "Billy," he said finally, without meeting my eyes. He sounded lost.

"What?"

"My name. It's...Billy."

Billy. It was a child's name, but somehow I could see that it suited him. He didn't quite belong in the grown-up world. For a moment, I could see through all the villainy to the little kid underneath. I could see his humanity.

"My name's Anne. It's...nice to meet you, Billy."

Now _that_ was a shock. He couldn't think of anything to say to that, and he was obviously trying. I looked at him, trying to gauge his vulnerability and open-mindedness at this moment. Finally, I decided to go for it.

"You know, the world hasn't heard from Dr. Horrible since a building fell on top of him," I began tentatively.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "So?"

"So, what if he didn't make it?"

"No way," he responded immediately. "I've achieved so much—I'd have to start all over again, and the League would definitely revoke my membership if I died through the backfire of my own invention."

I shrugged. "Just an idea. If he was gone, you'd be left in peace to do what you want."

"I'm already doing what I want. The whole world is mine."

"The whole world except her." The instant the words left my mouth, I knew they were the wrong ones. It wasn't necessarily a mistake in the long run, but I could have been a lot subtler. "That was a low blow," I admitted, the closest I would allow myself to get to another apology. "Look, I'm gonna go get some food. You want me to sneak something in for you? I hear hospital food sucks."

He shook his head, silent and pensive.

I talked to his doctor on the way out. Apparently Mister William Harris was pretty lucky. His injuries weren't as severe as they had seemed at first; instead of having a great big hole in his internal organs like I thought, he just had this gnarly puncture wound in his ribs. He'd lost a lot of blood but it had missed anything vital, and in a week or so he should be back to normal. Good. Plenty of time for him to think. If Dr. Horrible didn't resurface within a couple days, the world would start wondering what happened to him. He could still walk away... I snorted derisively. He seemed like a stubborn guy. There probably wasn't much chance of his taking my advice. Still, a girl could dream.


	4. Misfire

I didn't go in to see him the next day. Instead, I spent it filling out job applications. Joy. The day after, though, I just couldn't stay away.

"So, I guess you've probably talked to your doctor by now," I said, settling down in a chair.

He nodded.

"What are you planning to do when you get out?" Like I couldn't guess.

"Let everyone know I'm back. Do something dastardly, you know, to prove I'm all right."

"Dastardly, right. So, murder, or just petty theft?"

He shrugged, then winced as it stretched the stitches over his ribs. "I'm not sure yet."

"You could go to the animal shelter and kick puppies."

My suggestion had been spoken so casually that he almost nodded. Then his brain actually processed it. "What? No! I'm not gonna kick puppies."

He was so indignant that I just had to laugh. "Oh, man. How did you ever conquer the world?" I wondered out loud.

He suddenly grew pensive. After a short silence he answered quietly, "A misfire."

My brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

He hesitated. It was obvious that he was trying to decide whether or not to open up to me. Finally he looked away.

Fine. If he wanted to keep everyone out, let him. I stood up.

He looked back at me, a hint of dismay in his eyes. I could see that he was trying to figure out what to say to get me to stay, or to come back at least. At the moment, I wasn't inclined to be particularly accommodating. I left without letting him know if or when I planned to return.

{(+)} {(+)} {(+)}

The next day, my conscience kept poking at me. I might have been able to ignore it had my curiosity not pitched in as well. Eventually I realized that if I stayed at home I'd be driven mad by their concerted efforts. All right, all right. Mentally waving a white flag, I grabbed my purse and headed off to the hospital once more.

Billy brightened visibly when I walked through the door. It took him a few seconds to don his villainous 'Dr. Horrible' mask, the one he hid behind so often. "Hey, Billy," I greeted him, mostly to mess with his double identity. I had to stifle a snicker as he reacted, only to stop himself and reassert the Dr. Horrible persona.

"So, you're back. Again," he said, trying to act nonchalant.

I couldn't help it. "Indeed. We meet again, Doctor Horrible. For the last time." Cliché line? Check. Ominous voice reserved especially for the delivery of such lines? Check and double check.

"What?" He actually seemed somewhat alarmed.

He deserved the eye-roll he got. Of all people, I thought he would be able to recognize overdramatic speechifying when he heard it. "Kidding. So, did you decide what you're going to do yet? Still no on the puppies?"

He gave me a look.

"Geez, you have no sense of humor."

"I do," he protested. "It just doesn't involve needless violence to...puppies."

"Right. Regular 'Defender of the Small', you are. Kel would be proud," I said, knowing he wouldn't get the reference and ridiculously pleased by that knowledge.

He thought about it for a couple seconds, searching his memory, then gave up and moved on. "Anyway, that doesn't have anything to do with my villain...ness. Uh, level of villainy? Evilness."

Patience wasn't my strongest suit, and I certainly didn't have enough to wait for him to suss out his semantics problem. "Whatever. Look, I'll be completely honest with you; about eighty percent of the reason I came today was because I love a good story and you definitely have one. Yesterday you said that you became our Evil Overlord and all that because of a misfire. What happened?"

I couldn't think of a delicate way to phrase it, so might as well go in for full bluntness. If it was going to hurt, it was going to hurt, no matter how I asked the question.

He sighed like he knew I was going to ask, but still hesitated before resigning himself to dredging up whatever memories were associated with his rise to power. "What about the other twenty percent?" he asked. Obvious stalling tactics. That didn't prevent me from answering, though.

I shrugged, not sure of how to explain my compulsion to share other people's burdens. "I like to help people. Listening is a good way to do it."

He gave a tiny nod, as if to firm his resolve, and told me his story.

"...then he tried to fire. It wasn't meant to be dropped. It just wasn't built to sustain damage. I should have designed it better." He put his head in his hands, the picture of defeat. His muffled voice issued from between his fingers after a brief silence. "It exploded. The shrapnel flew everywhere and Penny—" He stopped. I could figure out what had happened; he didn't need to say it out loud for my benefit.

He took a shuddering breath and continued, head still bowed and face hidden behind his hands. "The E.L.E. thought it was on purpose, of course, and I was accepted. You probably know the rest."

Ruling the world by accident. I shook my head in amazement.


End file.
